The Woman at the Jeffersonian
by chirpy-chii
Summary: A routine identification of an archived skeleton turns complicated when Bones and Zack cannot identify the cause of death, and suspicions over why it is with them in the first place mount... especially since it was thought to be in a British cemetery.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer__ – neither Harry Potter nor the T.V show Bones has anything to do with me – I don't own them, I didn't write them, and I have no claim to them at all – I'm just having fun with the characters and working my creative brains. The Bones part is based in the first season._

Full Description:

A routine identification of an archived skeleton at the Jeffersonian turns complicated when Bones and Zack cannot identify the cause of death, and suspicions over why it is with them in the first place mount... especially since the person was thought to be in a British cemetery the past twenty years.

* * *

**The Women at the Jeffersonian**

"Don't you sometimes wish that there weren't so many bones around here?" Angela Montenegro, the Jeffersonian Institute's prime forensic artist, commented wistfully while observing anthropological student Zack Addy carefully taking x-ray scans of his latest subject.

Zack glanced at Angela sideways before turning back to the bones, cautious as ever around his work. "I do not understand, Angela. Isn't it a good thing that we are unlikely to run out of work primarily because of the large amount of unidentified remains archived at the Jeffersonian Institute?"

Angela grimaced, "Oh honey, I meant that it's such a shame that there are so many people here that had lives and family that will possibly never know what happened to them – just thinking about such a thing..."

"Angela, Zack?" Dr. Temperance Brennan stood at the stairs to their platform, a frown on her lips.

"Yes, Doctor Brennan?" Zack replied, missing Angela's guilty flinch at not noticing her friend's approach who did, in fact, know what it was like not knowing what happened to her family.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry..." Angela started to apologise, but was silenced by a stern look.

"What is your preliminary hypothesis as to the cause of death of unknown subject #852, Mr. Addy?" Brennan moved to stand beside her student, eyes fixed on the monitor that showed the enlarged results of Zack's scan.

"I have not studied the skeleton nearly enough to form an accurate hypothesis." Zack protested, frowning at his mentor.

"And I accept that." Brennan nodded, "But nonetheless I would like to know the results of your preliminary examination."

"Yes, tell us Zack." Angela encouraged, mildly exasperated at the two scientists for complicating such a simple conversation.

Zack glanced at Angela before turning back to the screen and frowning pensively. "The subject is female, early twenties and had given birth to a child within roughly one to two years before her death. From my initial examination, I assumed that death was caused by one of the many and exacerbated mutilating cuts on the subject's skeleton, but further examination has revealed that all disfigurement took place post-humorously. Which brings me to the conclusion that... as of yet, I have found no cause of death from my examination."

"What?" Angela yelped, her eyes wide, and although hers was the most vocal exclamation, Brennan's similar disbelief showed though her expression. Zack, no matter his young age and relative inexperience, was unquestionably a genius and had never failed to identify a cause of death even in a preliminary examination before.

"So this woman was cut up after her death, but you haven't found out what killed her in the first place? And for that matter, _why_ didn't we hear about such a bad case before now, you'd think we would have considering the state of her bones – isn't it our job to help find killers?" Angela clarified and demanded at the same time.

Neither of the scientists replied to her exclamation, and she was summarily ignored by both of them, as focused as they now were on the puzzle before them.

Brennan's mind raced as her eyes flitted over the pictures on the screen, before she turned towards the bones, her mind already turning towards deciphering this unexpected situation, her attention fully captured. "Zack, I want you to analyse the structure of the Interclavicular Ligaments, see if you can find any aberrations or indicative markings while I conduct a close examination. Angela, I'd like you to take the skull and construct a portrait, we may be able to use it to find living relatives in conjunction with a DNA analysis. Also, could you call for Dr. Hodgins – we will need him to analyse any remaining microorganisms."

Angela raised her eyebrows at her now fully-absorbed friend, before she rolled her eyes and carefully scooped up the skull. Sometimes, she just couldn't understand how engrossed the two anthropologists were able to become – and she was more than a little envious of their ability to disconnect themselves from the reality of the fact that they were looking at what had happened to a person – a living, breathing, loving person.

And then there were the times that she worried for them and their ability to do this.

"I'll get right on it." She assured rather pointlessly, before she moved away and into the quiet space of her office to do her job.

**.13 ****Ө **₪ **ℓ S**.

"So what, you _still_ haven't found out what killed her?"

"Well, we have worked on the subject extensively, and concluded that the forty-nine aberrations carved into the skeletal structure were indeed all administered post-humorously. We have also, unfortunately, been unable to discern a cause of death." Brennan admitted to her assembled audience, consisting of Angela, Zack, and her colleagues that had since been involved in the case – Jack Hodgins and the Jeffersonian's director, Dr. Daniel Goodman. They were briefing FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, who had been given the go ahead from his bosses to get involved in what was quickly becoming the strangest case that they had ever discovered – a woman, originally a Jane Doe that had been housed in the Jeffersonian archives of unidentified persons for almost twenty years, and had somehow been left alone – despite obvious mutilation – in all that time.

"That was a yes, right?" Booth qualified, looking beseechingly at the two people present that he could expect a relatively straight answer from.

Angela stepped in before Brennan could complicate matters, "Yes, they haven't found out what killed her." She said. "But we _do_ have my amazing portrait of the woman, and I'm running a search through the FBI data base, although I have been able to narrow it down through her facial cues that she is of British decent, most likely nationality as well so I've narrowed the search with that." She indicated the sketch pad on the table, and Booth turned it around to see the woman.

At a glance, she was pretty, with high cheek bones and an impish line of her lips. "Have you at least found a place where I can start the investigation?"

"The body was found right here in Washington D.C." Hodgins gleefully cut in, apparently having been waiting for the question, "Caused quite a stir – see, it turned up only a few blocks away from the White House... which makes it all the more strange that no one has done anything with it until now – since when do they not investigate the hell out of _anything_ suspicious at all anywhere near that neighbourhood? I bet you this is involved seriously in hard core cult activity – I mean, how else would everyone ignore a body that turns up like that? I just wonder how far the occultists managed to burrow their way into the government – I mean, how many people would have to be involved to pull something like this off? A total government -"

"Thank you, Dr. Hodgins." Goodman cut in, much experienced with the paranoid entomologists' aptitude for seeing conspiracy in every death that they investigated.

"I'm sorry, I know it's crazy, but I have to put it out there that I kinda agree with Hodgins on this one." Angela voiced, although she seemed surprised herself to be doing so, "there's something funky about this."

Booth stared at Angela's sketch grimly, turning over the facts that had been presented to him and not liking them at all. A nearby computer beeped, and the group flinched slightly at the blaring noise that cut through their collective rather morbid contemplations.

Angela sprang up and moved over to it, "We've got a match guys."

"And?" Booth demanded, craning his neck to see the flashing 'MATCH' blaring across the screen.

Angela tapped a few keys, minimising the message and bringing up a picture of a young woman that was a dead ringer for her own portrait, "Her name was Lily Potter."

**.13 ****Ө ****₪ ℓ S****.**

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A/N: okay, so this is my first attempt at writing Bones fanfiction, so go a little easy on me when it comes to the sciency-stuff because it's just not my thing- I'm doing history and literature in my uni course, and everything else is guesswork (and I've only just finished second year, so right about now I'm just realising how I'll never get anywhere near accomplished in either subject as well). I've also never been to the USA, so that will be lacking as well.

Constructive reviews will be greatly appreciated, and I hope that I've managed to capture your imaginations – Harry will be introduced next chapter – after all, he's gonna hear about it if Lily Potter's bones are discovered in another country, far away from the Godric's Hollow graveyard where she is supposed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"...ter! POTTER! POOOOTTTTTERRRRR! WAKE THE HELL UP, DAMMIT! ...Fucking lazy ass boss, Morgana's saggy tits, I deserve more money for this..."

The woman's boss was, unfortunately, asleep on the job. Again. "WA-"

The man jerked out of his dead sleep, like a rod of lightning had been slammed up somewhere unmentionable – "I'M AWAKE! I am _not_ sleeping, and certainly not trying to catch up on anything because of my lovely, wonderful, heavily pregnant wife... oh. It's just you, Cleo. What the hell did you wake me for?"

Cleopatra Janet Leville, pureblood and recently employed secretary to the Head of the Auror Department, the highly decorated and widely admired Harry James Potter, seethed in rage.

The man himself was currently rubbing grit casually away from his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. His robe was the epitome of messy and unprofessional - she could even see a few stains on it from where she stood in front of his desk. His black hair was a mess of matted sections and tight unruly curls. All in all, he looked nothing like the Saviour of the Wizarding World that she had grown up hearing daring, heroic tales of. The man that she had, once upon a time when she had been incredibly naive and actually _honoured_ to be picked to work under, could in no way measure up to the tales and the image of him that was widely accepted by society.

She wished that he was more professional, and that he would do paperwork without the need for her to be standing behind him, the incantation for a blasting hex on her lips.

He squinted up at her, and she pursued her lips. "Minister Shacklebolt told me that he needs to see you in his office."

Harry scratched his chin, fingers dragging over stubble. "Hmm. I think I remember seeing one of those memos in my office when I got here – didn't seem too urgent though, the little bugger wasn't even smoking."

Cleo exhaled through her nose, "Boss, you can't judge how urgent something is on how much the memo complains. And _no one_ can ignore a summons from the _Minister of Magic! _You_-!_"

Harry snorted, "Ha! You can too tell how urgent a memo is – there's a saying, ya know; '_If it floats in the air, you don't have a care, but if it's exploding alas, you get the hell up off your-"_

"NO SWEARING IN THE OFFICE! It is _your_ duty, as Head Auror, to uphold the noble image of our ancestor's legacy! Have you _ever_ read the handbook, Boss?_ Merlin_!"

Harry wondered just how he'd managed to find someone more anal than _Hermione_ was in her first year at Hogwarts about rules. He reluctantly heaved himself out of his chair with the sneakily casted cushioning charms embedded into it, and waved a hand at her. "Fine fine, I'll go see what Shackles wants. But I want you to go out and take a freaking break while I'm at it, yeah? Hell, borrow some Firewhiskey from Ron's stash, or even Foray! Mellow down, life's too uncertain to be so uptight about, yeah?"

Harry ignored her bristling at his calling the Minister 'Shackles', and strode out the door quickly, having no wish to be a target for another of her blasting hexes. He really shouldn't have let Hermione pick his secretary after the last one had quit, but then it was either her or Malfoy, and he wasn't going to let the ferret anywhere _near_ his employees.

Sure, he probably shouldn't be annoying her and deliberately provoking her, but he honestly felt that she needed to learn to lighten up – and she was certainly getting the message in an easier way then he had.

He nodded to a few people on the way to Kingsley's office, taking the time to stop and exchange greeting with a few people that had been in the DA all those years ago and were now scattered throughout the Ministry, and thus arrived almost forty minutes after Cleo initially told him Kings had said the meeting was. The man wouldn't mind, if it was really serious he would have been the first to be knocking down Harry's door about dark wizards and such harming civilians.

He didn't bother knocking on the door to the Minister's office, so he was surprised to see that the man was quietly waiting for him instead of catching up on work or something.

"Ah, Harry. What held you up this time?" Kingsley spoke slowly, as usual, but there was a tenseness to him that put the department head on edge.

He sheepishly grinned, "Uh, you know – reports, work, the usual."

Kingsley motioned to the seat in front of his desk, and Harry strode in and took it. The Minister's face stated clearly that in no way did he believe his Auror's excuse.

"Fine, I was catching up on some sleep – Ginny's been getting really weird lately, and had me running errands and stuff for the past week at least! I'll be happy when the baby finally pops out – she's been very... emotional and stuff lately. Haven't caught a proper rest in _ages_."

"Harry." The sharp word had the wizard closing his mouth and waiting. It was kind of obvious that Kingsley had something a bit more concerning than his lack of sleep to discuss – although just what that was, he couldn't guess.

"Something's... come up. In America." Shacklebolt started, carefully measuring his words.

"What is it? Another Dark Lord wannabe? Shacks, I know you got me to help out the Italians two years ago, but-"

"No. It's not about a new Dark Lord. It's not even about an attack, or anything to do with your job, actually."

Harry sat in puzzled silence. "What's this about then?"

Shacklebolt grimaced to himself, his hands twitching for something and seeming very hesitant to continue. "... It's about... well. Some muggles have found evidence of a crime that was committed here in Britain. They work as scientists – more specifically, anthropologists – at the prime research and medical institution called the Jeffersonian which is based in Washington D.C. They work closely with the FBI on criminal cases where the victim is too decomposed for a coroner to get much evidence from the remains."

Harry waited, wondering where Shacklebolt was going with this. Why did he have to know about this? American aurors could take care of obliviating them, or whatever they judged necessary – hell, the paperwork for this wouldn't get within an ocean of his desk! But Kingsley seemed content to allow silence to permeate the office.

The Minister's expression was grim, and he was staring at Harry as if there was something that the prodigious Auror should have latched on to in that sentence. "...And? Why can't the Americans deal with this?"

Grimmer and grimmer. "This case is... special. The 'evidence' has absolute no reason to have been where they found it – we were all taken by surprise when it was discovered, and it is worrying everybody that's heard of it – the higher ups in their government, and now me. It is for this reason that we have found it more important to investigate cooperatively with the muggles rather than erase their memories and recollect the evidence. The investigation will, of course, be completely disguised to the muggles – they will not know of the involvement of magical sectors. The objective will be to discover the culprits behind the evidence's appearance."

Okay, so Harry definitely understood the seriousness of this case, even without any in-depth detail of it – evidence turning up that made wizards _voluntarily_ want to work with them equalled incredibly bad news. "Again. And...? Look, Shacks, I get that this has people freaking out on a wide scale and everything, but just why did you need to tell me? I'm sure the Americans have competent aurors that can do that, and our ones have enough to be getting on with, when they're not whining at me to give them a good case."

Kingsley's expression was grim, and had been ever since the beginning of their conversation. A thousand tiny indicators of stress were available to Harry's carefully trained auror, crime-fighting senses.

"Look, Potter... _Harry_. I can't... there's really no easy way to break this to you. The reason this came to our attention so quickly, and has been passed over to us by the Americans, was because the 'evidence' discovered... it's... personal. Deeply personal. The Americans practically did a collective spit-take when the Jeffersonian contacted the FBI with the details of this case, the weird-shit-o-metre is through the bloody roof, and the American Minister _himself_ came over to brief me on this earlier today."

Harry wondered if his eyebrows had managed to detach themselves from his face to float at the ceiling in an effort to properly express his incredulity. What. The. Hell. As far as he knew, Kingsley had only recently gotten them to_ speak _to him. Why the hell would they _voluntarily _ring them up, in such an ostentatious manner?

"The reason for all this... it's personal, yes. It's personal... to _you._"

Well, that would explain why everyone was throwing a collective bitch fit. He'd come to expect that, however petulantly, that he was famous, and it wasn't going to go away. Unfortunately. It'd only gotten worse since as a regular auror he'd been outsourced to various governments to help with their dark lords to raise Britain's PR. Personal? Why did he have a very bad feeling about that? Doom and, things?

Kingsley exhaled loudly and sunk down in his posh chair. "The evidence they found... it had been in their archives as a 'Jane Doe' for roughly nineteen years. Now, the team the Americans had in to do an initial investigation into the call discovered old residue of a form of charm that would divert attention away from the remains – it collapsed upon itself after too much energy had escaped the working. Unfortunately, what's left doesn't have a strong enough magical signature to get a tracking reading from it. What's worrying is the patterns engraved into the... _damn it_... bones, they are consistent with a muggle piercing weapon. Not a spell – which preliminarily suggests a muggle and wizard working in concert, considering that it has been ruled to be the work of numerous people. It is even more worrying that there has not been _anything_ that is even _arbitrarily_ similar to what has been found by the muggles at all – therefore, it is very likely that whoever did this has done it more times, as it is very unlikely that such a huge effort was expended for a one-off case."

Harry thought about this. And thought about it again. Kingsley had gone from 'evidence' found, to a 'Jane Doe', to talking about 'carvings in the bones' or something like that. This was all linked to the word 'personal'. To him. "Cut the bullshit Shacklebolt and get to the _bloody _point! What the fuck could bones found in America nineteen years ago have to do with _me?_!"

Shacklebolt seemed to man the hell up, because he finally looked Harry dead in the eye.

"The Americans have organised everything so that you'll be affiliated with the FBI, on loan from MI5 because of the delicate nature of this investigation. MI5 has stepped up to back this claim, in accordance with the new regulations relating to auror/muggle cooperation. This gives you access to the investigation itself, and I expect you to report to the Jeffersonian at ten o'clock tomorrow morning at the latest. Remember that. Here is the documents you'll need to avoid being arrested by the Americans when you no doubt illegally apparate over there-" Harry found a file full of paper shoved into his hands, along with his magical passport, although he didn't know how the hell Kingsley had gotten it "- and please, _please_ do not aggravate them more than strictly necessary. We've gotten someone to replace you in your duties here for the duration of your assignment there. You're obviously wondering why the hell I'm saying all this, and it's because I know you, and you wouldn't let me tell you what you _need_ to know before running off half-cocked like you're about to do in a few seconds..."

There was now a dark aura gathering around Harry, fierce as he stared straight at the panicking minister which was setting off all kinds of internal alarms – Kingsley hadn't been anywhere _near_ this level of anxiety even at the height of Voldemort's reign! "Kingsley. _Per~son~al?'_ He drawled eerily.

"...The evidence found... was... Lily Potter's remains." The Minister said with finality, wincing on the name.

A few things happen all at once in that moment. Anything not nailed into the floor was thrown around violently, and everything made of glass blew up spectacularly. Harry's hands tightened so much on the papers in his hands that they crumpled, and then the heavy warding on Kingsley's office blared an ear-shattering warning as they were broken to pieces when the Head of their Auror department forcibly apparated himself out of the most protected office of the third most protected building in Britain, just behind Gringotts and Hogwarts.

Minister Shacklebolt was left alone, clutching his ears and flinching at the abrupt entrance of about twelve alarmed aurors and Hermione Granger of the Magical Creatures department.

"That went about as could be expected." She commented somewhat airily, although Kingsley caught the undertone of superiority that said 'I _told_ you that you should have taken him outside to break the news.'

He muttered an expletive at her and promptly began ordering the aurors to clean up their boss's mess.

* * *

_A/N: Well, Harry has been informed. Hope you enjoyed that. :) I made up the memo rhyme, obviously - it amused me too much, and I got the idea from my favourite university saying - "_P's get degree's"!


	3. Chapter 3

1. Sorry, not an update.

2. Am moving things to new pename, link on profile page or search for ailes_de_cire on Archive of Our Own.

3. Thank you to everyone who has supported my fanfiction endeavour, and actually bothered to see what the hell I posted this time - it's been crazy long since I've actually written anything because of reasons

4. Drop a line, possible updates in near future. (not on already completed stories though)

5. For Woman at the Jeffersonian, I am not bothering to pull over the second chapter, because it sucked and Harry's so OOC it's horrible. I am, however, posting up the first chapter and seriously trying to continue this story, because I still believe it's an interesting premise - hopefully you'll stick with me.


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